<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Butterfly and the Moth by Edonohana</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139449">The Butterfly and the Moth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana'>Edonohana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cake, Food, Gen, Stolen Moments</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:00:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/pseuds/Edonohana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Penthe and Arha share a stolen moment, along with some stolen food.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penthe &amp; Tenar (Earthsea)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Butterfly and the Moth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/gifts">opalmatrix</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arha did not attend the ceremonies of the Godking, but Penthe told her all about them. They were boring affairs for the most part, or at least, Penthe found them dull. The exception was the feast of the Godking’s birthday. It involved as much chanting and bowing as the rest of them, but celebrants visited from other, richer temples. Most importantly, as far as Penthe was concerned, they brought delicacies with them to provide for a grand feast. She was happy that night and for a week afterward, which was as long as the leftovers lasted. </p><p>The evening after the guests departed, she found Arha on the old rock wall where they’d sat as children. Arha smiled to herself, thinking that Penthe must have eaten well at the feast. She looked plumper than ever. </p><p>Penthe beckoned Arha down from the wall, and they sat on the ground with their backs against it. A small lizard darted aside, cocked its head and looked at them with its gleaming black eyes, then vanished into a drift of dry leaves. Even nearing sunset, the desert heat hadn’t left the air. But the shadow cast by the wall was cool, as was that side of the wall itself. Penthe reached into her black robe and removed a sack, and after that she was less plump.  </p><p>“Munith didn’t count everything before she stored it,” said Penthe. “And Kossil’s sick in bed, so she didn’t make her. At least she says she’s sick. I think she just ate too much. I would have too, if I’d been seated at the great table! They’re much stingier with what they pass down to us novices. We didn’t get anything like this.”</p><p>She took out a covered dish and a bottle, then flattened out the sack to serve as a setting. The dish was their own plain black earthenware, but the bottle was like nothing Arha had ever seen. It was small but beautifully blown, of very clear glass without a flaw or bubble. The liquid within was a pale blush-pink. Wondering, Arha touched it with a fingertip. It was cool and smooth as a polished stone from the river.</p><p>“Oh, Penthe. They’ll miss this.”  </p><p>“No, they won’t. I’ll bring it back and refill it with water colored with apple blossoms and shaken up with a bit of goat cheese. Whoever drinks it will spit it out so fast, they’ll never realize that it didn’t just go bad, it wasn’t the right stuff to begin with.”</p><p>Arha had to laugh. “I hope it’s Kossil… What is it?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I just thought it looked good.” She eased out the cork, then offered it to Arha. “First taste?”</p><p>Arha put her thumb beneath the lip of the bottle, keeping her mouth from touching the glass, and tipped the bottle upward. It was a familiar movement, the way they always drank from shared containers. But her caution with the delicate bottle made her remember how she’d first been taught to drink that way. Kossil had scolded her for being clumsy and wasting water when Arha had lifted the canteen too high and overfilled her mouth or spilled it down her front, but Thar had only reached out and corrected her angle.</p><p>Arha expected the liquid to be sweet, but it wasn’t. The flavor was very delicate, haunting and hard to place. It was almost more of a scent than a taste, but it lingered on the tongue. </p><p>She passed the bottle to Penthe, who sipped it and set it down with a sigh. “It’s not salty, but it makes me think of the sea.” </p><p>It had made Arha think of orchards, but not in the wistful manner in which Penthe had spoken. She could almost remember an orchard that was like the apple grove, but it wasn’t <i>this</i> apple grove. She felt like she had an itch that she couldn’t scratch because she couldn’t figure out exactly where it was. </p><p>With a flourish, Penthe removed the lid from the black dish. It contained a little round cake covered in glistening scarlet berries, with two spoons resting beside it. “Summerberry cake. They’re preserved, of course. They only last a day or so fresh. But I like them even better this way. They’re sour when they’re just picked. My mother used to say they were the only fruit she could send me to gather and know I’d actually bring it home.”</p><p>She handed Arha one of the spoons. “We need to eat the whole thing. I hid it right away, and piled the plate it came on with apples. If I wash the dish and put it away, no one will ever know.”</p><p>Arha hesitated to spoil the beauty of the cake, but Penthe took her spoon and dug in. The cake was in layers, with strata of golden jam running through it. The berries had a crisp sugar shell that cracked under her teeth, releasing a startling flood of tart juice, while the jam was silky and floral. The cake was dense and moist and rich. </p><p><i>It's rich because it's made with butter and eggs,</i> Arha thought, then wondered how she knew that. No cakes were made in their kitchens, only bread that rose overnight and was baked in the morning. The only ingredients were flour and water and salt and yeast. It was good when it was hot and fresh, but by evening it was coarse and heavy. </p><p>Penthe spoke dreamily, between bites. “Even in Awabath, a cake like this would be a luxury. The jam is from summerberry flowers, and they’re even more delicate than the berries. And candying the berries like this takes forever. It's easier to make preserves with them. They fill buns with summerberry preserves and sell them from stalls and carts, fresh-baked and hot. If I ran away, I could buy one every day for my breakfast.”</p><p>“Is that where you'd go, if you did run away?”</p><p>“Maybe,” said Penthe. “I’d need to carry a lot of supplies, but I could do it. There’s a river on the way where I could refill my canteens, and…”</p><p>Penthe was very practical for a girl who spent so much time dreaming. Or maybe it was that she liked her dreams to seem possible, and for that she needed realistic details. She’d figured out exactly how much dried goat meat and dried apples and barley flour and water she’d need to get to Awabath. She’d even figured out how much she could steal from the stores per day without anyone noticing, and what story she could tell to explain where she was from. When Arha listened to her, she could almost imagine that Penthe would do it.</p><p>“If you did run away, Penthe, I wouldn’t say anything. Or I could say you’d once told me you wished you could go to… Where would you never go?”</p><p>“Here,” said Penthe glumly. Then, brightening with the idea, “Ossawa. I was a novice there once. Someone might remember.”</p><p>“Ossawa,” Arha agreed. “I could say you liked it better than here.”</p><p>“That’s true, I did.” Penthe swiped a finger along her edge of the dish and unselfconsciously licked the golden smudge, then gazed hungrily at the crumbs and dollops of jam that Arha had left on her side.</p><p>Arha turned the dish, presenting Penthe with her morsels, and watched her scrape them up. She ate with so much pleasure that it made Arha fancy that the cake was satisfied with its destiny. Surely that which was made to be devoured would want to be the occasion of such delight.</p><p><i>I am the Eaten One</i>, she thought. <i>Did the Nameless Ones take pleasure in eating me?</i></p><p>Arha shivered. </p><p>“You’re cold. I should go.” Penthe gathered up the dish and spoons and bottle into the sack, whisked it under her robe, and stood. She gazed out at the mountains to the west, and said, “Would you really tell them I wanted to run away to Ossawa?”</p><p>It had not occurred to Arha that Penthe had been serious. She often talked about running away, but for her to actually go… For anyone to go… It seemed unimaginable. The Tombs were eternal, like the Nameless Ones and the Eaten One. They had always been and always would be, here in the heat and the desert and the cold darkness below.</p><p>Arha had lived and died and would live and die again, but only here, always here, bound to the Labyrinth. Like a moth, she could only live in darkness; she would beat herself to death against a light. But Penthe didn't serve the Nameless Ones. She didn’t even believe in them. She was like a butterfly dancing away from the hands that snatched at it, to live her short, restless, vivid life amongst sweet smells and bright colors.</p><p>“Of course,” Arha said. “They will believe me. I am the Eaten One.”</p><p>“It would take me some time, to hide enough food.” Penthe wasn’t looking back to consider hiding places, but outward; toward the mountains, or perhaps to the sea beyond. “To steal cloth and sew in secret, to make garments that aren’t these wretched black robes. Months, at least… Before I go, I’ll tell you where I hid everything. You’ll know they were good places once I'm gone, because if anyone finds them, I won’t be going anywhere!”</p><p> “Why would I need them? I won’t leave. I belong here.”</p><p>“Of course, of course.” Penthe smiled. Arha had always felt older than her, but Penthe’s knowing smile was that of an older sister. “But it won’t harm you to know.”</p><p>Arha watched her make her way back to the Temple of the Godking. A breeze blew in from the mountains, carrying a scent of green leaves and salt. Her robe fluttered like wings.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>